


Oh Night Divine

by Winterstar



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, angst/ tiny bit of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2018-04-04 22:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4154634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterstar/pseuds/Winterstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I admit I was going to write at least one fluffy piece for the advent day 23…but then this came to my head. –Neal makes a deal with the devil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh Night Divine

The door creaks open to reveal the empty warehouse. The clatter of his shoes as they echo through the bare space reminds him of Peter and the last time he was here. The shadows, thrown by the lights hanging high up in the ceiling, stretch out across the long space of concrete beneath him. He takes off his hat and brushes away the flakes of snow. It had just begun to snow when he left the Burkes, a place he’d thought he would never be welcomed again, but he was wrong.

He had been wrong about a great many things.

*oOoOoOoOo*  
_He leans against the window pane, watching the first flakes of snow descend against the light from the street lamp. The glow coating the streets glimmers over his vision in flashes like after images. He holds a glass of wine, but hasn’t tasted it. The warmth of the sounds around him envelop, cover him with something he knows he does not deserve._

_The Christmas tree with its white lights and cobbled together decorations glitters. He stands right next to it. The Burkes moved the sofa away from the window so that the tree could have a traditional place of honor. It is the first time they are staying in the city for Christmas; other years they journeyed upstate to visit Elizabeth’s sister. Today, Christmas Eve, everyone is here._

_Even Neal, even after all that has happened._

*oOoOoOoOo*

Glancing around, he feels the void of the warehouse space but it reverberates with lasting memories of things he wants to forget, of a person he no longer wants to be. It held a treasure once, an elusive illusion of a dream come to haunt him. He wonders how so much of his life has been about chasing after something, even as he ran away. A shadow moves from the corner close to the door and crosses to meet him.

“A man of your word, Caffrey? You’re more FBI than I thought.” The man holds a knife. He uses the point to clean away the dirt from his fingernails. Neal imagines his hands are dirty, very dirty.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Neal says.

“You’re so eager to die?” The shadows of the warehouse shift and the light reflects across the face. “Strip. I want to make sure you’re not wired.”

Neal nods and starts to remove his clothes. It is cold and harsh, but he carefully folds each piece as if he has something precious like a baby in his hands. He knows these things are loved; they were Bryon’s and really never his, after all. Bryon was loved. He frowns and decides it is not a time to be maudlin, but to keep his emotions stilled, removed, and under control.

*oOoOoOoOo*  
_They move about the table, the room as if in a dance. Neal observes as Elizabeth orchestrates the party, ensuring even his glass is full. He smiles when she asks him and lifts up his glass as evidence. She squeezes his wrists and wrinkles her nose the way she does when she is happy. He wonders if Peter has noticed. He leaves the window and the Christmas tree._

_He engages in a slight conversation here or there, never truly participating. It isn’t his night; Neal Caffrey doesn’t rule this room tonight. He doesn’t have to play or con or even pretend tonight. He drinks in the freedom of just being, allowing himself to feel the atmosphere around him without analyzing it, though he does notice the nervous way Jones checks his phone for text messages._

_Mozzie angles toward the buffet, always one for free food. He points out some delicacy to Jones and starts a long monologue about the dish and its origins. Neal is certain Mozzie will keep Jones and himself occupied for some time._

*oOoOoOoOo*  
“Still, I am surprised you showed,” Keller says as he tilts his head, he pockets the knife. Neal stands in front of him with only his boxers and t-shirt on. He struggles to keep from shivering in the chilled open space of the barren warehouse. “I thought for sure, you’d, you know, bring the whole army of the FBI down on me.”

“How do you know it isn’t about to happen,” Neal says, keeping his demeanor is more difficult than he thought. Death lingers in the corners, in the dark. It lurks, only awaiting the word from Keller to finally strike.

Keller shrugs his shoulders and smiles, while biting his lower lip. “It ain’t like you, Caffrey. You’ve always been an honest thief, if there is one.” Keller walks over to lights set up toward the center of the space. He turns on the lamp and it blinds Neal. “Your fault, you know. Your honesty and heart will always be your downfall. Well, I should put that in the past tense now, shouldn’t I?”

Neal doesn’t remark. He looks up at the windows stretched near the ceiling of the warehouse. Through the grime, he can barely make out the flickering of snow. It gives the dirt stained glass an ethereal glow. He smiles. At least, in these last moments, he can still find beauty. He considered that a win.

*oOoOoOoOo*  
_Glancing at his watch, Neal realizes it is nearly eleven o’clock. Midnight steps toward him as if it is a pending visit from the ghosts of The Christmas Carole. It threatens him. He has to move but something stops him, freezes him in place as he watches the gaiety surround him. There are candles lit on the mantle and the scent of pine mixed with cinnamon in the air. He inhales, cleansing his lungs, his mind. The voices and motion around him blurs and blends as if it is in slow motion and fast forward at the same time. He glimpses Peter, his hand a light on Elizabeth shoulders. Even this helps him in the act he is about to commit._

_As he pulls out his phone, the songs echoing through the current of voices penetrate the numbness of the night. He listens to the quiet melody of the Christmas hymn and wonders why he knows them all by heart. He only sings them once a year, but somehow he still remembers the melodies, the harmonies, and the words._

_He presses the last text into the phone and slips into the vestibule. Satchmo raises his head as Neal adjusts his long black wool coat and pulls out his leather gloves. Neal puts a finger to his lips and whispers to the dog to be quiet. Satchmo only gives a whine as Neal disappears outside._

_He doesn’t brace himself for the cold. It runs into his bones. He walks the few steps down to the street, the snow only just dusts the grass; it isn’t sticking to the pavement. He sees the cab he ordered earlier waiting two doors down, just as he’d instructed. With only a quick peer over his shoulder at the house, Neal opens the taxi door._

_He watches as the cab pulls away, leaving the Burke’s and this life behind. His chest aches with chiseled out pain as he wishes he could have said goodbye to Peter, to all of them._

*oOoOoOoOo*  
_O Holy Night_  
The stars are brightly shining  
It is the night of our dear Savior's birth

It isn’t until eleven fifteen that Mozzie yanks out his phone and looks to see a text blinking, waiting for him. He furrows his brows as he studies it. It is from Neal, sent just minutes ago. Mozzie glances up to find Neal through the crowd at the Burke’s house. The rooms are small, confined, but people mill about, circling.

“Neal?” Mozzie says. Though noises rise and fall with the conversations and the music, Mozzie’s single declaration explodes in his head. “Neal?”

His voice is louder, more insistent yet there is no answer. Maybe he went to the restroom, Mozzie hopes. He spies Sara sitting with Satchmo near the Christmas tree. She, too, is staring at her phone with a puzzled look on her face. She looks up and searches the room. He knows, instantly, who she seeks.

“Neal?” Sara says.

Phones are buzzing throughout the room like little alarm clocks, but all from Neal. Each person grabs for their phone and pulls it out. Each and every one glances up to hunt for Neal. No one finds him.

It is Peter crowded in the kitchen who finds his way to Mozzie. “What’s going on, Mozzie?” He lifts his phone and there is a message there. The same message Mozzie received, probably the same one on each phone in the house.

“Sydney Carton."

Mozzie focuses on Elizabeth and the shards come together, broken and sharp. He recalls asking Neal just how he’d been able to negotiate with a terrorist, how he’d ensured Mrs Suit’s freedom from Keller. They’d thought to use the treasure as leverage but Keller wanted something more elusive than just the treasure. People like Keller were greedy and selfish. Somehow Neal brokered a deal to save Elizabeth while the treasure ended up in the hands of the Feds. Not a shining moment for Mozzie when it came to the big score, but still a satisfying one when Mrs. Suit was found safe and sound. Elizabeth ended up rescued without more than minor cuts and abrasions. Keller had turned into a ghost. Everyone assumed Neal had something to do with it. Neal had only given him his patented confidence man smile and touched the side of his nose, then pointed at Mozzie. He only admitted that a magician never revealed his tricks.

It cuts deep into the marrow as Mozzie realizes what is happening. He murmurs, “It’s a far, far better thing.”

Peter knows it too. He’s cursing and reaching for his coat, yelling orders to Diana and Jones as he hits his phone to call the Marshalls for Neal’s tracking data.

Peter’s words are only whispered, but it feels like a thunderclap sounded above him. “Warehouse.”

*oOoOoOoOo*  
_Long lay the world in sin and error pining_  
Till he appeared  
And the soul felt it's worth

The streetlights flicker inconsistently with the weight of the snow holding the light down. Peter hunches over the wheel, trying not to listen to the constant rattling of Mozzie, attempting to see the road as the snow smears across his windshield. His shoulders ache with the tension pulling the muscles and tendons taut.

“Why would he do this?” Peter mutters but Mozzie hears him and stops. The silence is deafening and the squeak of the windshield wipers amplifies. He peers at Mozzie and catches a glimpse of his glare. “What?”

“You tell me, Suit, why is Neal playing the last scene of The Tale of Two Cities?”

Peter tears his gaze away from Mozzie and focuses on the streets; the wet of the snow reflects the lamps and smudges the world about him. “You don’t know that, we don’t know that.”

“Then why are we in your car racing to find him?”

The words drown out all other sounds. Peter knows why, Peter understands getting Elizabeth back was, somehow, far too easy, far too contrived. In those first hours after Elizabeth was in his arms again, he didn’t question. In the first days after Elizabeth found peace, he ignored Neal. In those first weeks after Elizabeth found her equilibrium again, he puzzled at it, teased it like a loose thread. He left it alone, and he knew why. He understood there were sacrifices he thought he was willing to give, thought he was willing to pledge. He didn’t ask, hadn’t ask what that sacrifice might be.

He isn’t sure he wants to find out, now.

*oOoOoOoOo*  
Drifting through the cracks in the window panes, Neal hears the lilt of voices touching the air. There are carolers passing the area, singing Christmas songs. There are squeals of laughter, and soft answers as the words begin again.

It is one of his favorite Christmas songs.  
  
Keller is speaking but Neal listens to the voices; he guesses they are young, innocent, and sweet. He smiles. They are slightly off key but it warms his core, reminds him there is still hope in this world.

_“A thrill of hope  
The weary world rejoices…..”_

A fist slams into the side of his face and he topples to the concrete, smacking his head. The world narrows, contracts into a funnel, then blows out again as Keller grips his t-shirt and drags him to his feet. Blood leaks from his nostril.

“What? I ain’t interesting enough for you, Caffrey?” Keller yanks at the collar of his shirt. “Give your murderer a little respect.”

“Who said you’re my murderer?” Neal smiles, he lifts his eyebrow and lets Keller doubt, just for a moment. Yet he knows, delay tactics won’t work with Keller, not this time. His eye and cheek throb in concert with his smashed skull.

His faith is unshakeable, though. There are people in this world Neal believes in, Peter is one of them.

“Oh, oh, very good, very good.” Keller smirks at him. “You had me going there.”

_“For yonder brinks a new and glorious morn_  
Fall on your knees  
O hear the angel voices” 

Keller pulls out a gun from his jacket and aims it at Neal’s chest. “Do what the nice Christmas carolers say, Caffrey. On your knees.”

Neal draws in a long breath, lets it fill his lungs as the moment lengthens and he descends into the vortex. The spin pulls him down into the seconds of his life rather than the minutes or hours or even days. He no longer has more than seconds, or nanoseconds. He has only this breath and maybe the next, nothing more.

Keller warns him again. He drops to his knees and the gun points directly at his forehead. The words of the song tumble down, trembling about him. It reminds him of snow, of leaves, of ashes and death. Over the sounds of the song, he hears the cocking of Keller’s gun. He wonders if he will hear the slight pop when the gun goes off since Keller has been smart and uses a silencer. He doesn’t wait for it; he reaches out and catches the melody to embrace it. Only seconds count his life; he doesn’t let go of his hope, his faith as he concentrates on the song instead.

 _“O night divine_  
O night …….”

The gun breaks through, shattering and exploding. The burst silences the world in slow ripples. It flows outward and hits him. There is no impact, though. He realizes he closed his eyes and wonders at his cowardice.

Keller lies before him, crumpled from a single shot to the head. Neal turns and looks over his shoulder. Peter’s gun is hot in his hand as he exhales from holding his breath for that single shot. Neal teeters; shivering in the cold as it finally touches him. He tries to take in a breath but his lungs seize and he gulps to no avail. His veil, his shield splinters and the world crashes in on him.

Hands are on him then, arms come around him and his head drops to a shoulder. A hand comes up and cups the back of his head. A face touches his and then a quiet whisper asks, “Why, Neal, why would you do this?”

He cannot answer it; the reply has no meaning in this life or any other. He only knows the immediacy of the embrace.

Peter bows his head and they are sitting in the middle of an empty space. There are others around them, but nothing else matters but this moment.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Neal murmurs. He apologizes for things past, but not this action, not this moment. The composure he possessed throughout the night has abandoned him now. His penance complete he finds he has no strength left.

“Not this, Neal, never this.” Peter shakes his head. Neal sees the pain in his eyes, how can he balance Elizabeth’s life against his life?

“Worth it,” Neal whispers as he quakes against the cold. Peter tugs off his coat and wraps it around Neal’s shoulders. It is then his world slips and slides down into the dark shadows of the warehouse, plunging into the abyss of guilt, penance, but also forgiveness. He surrenders as he hears Peter call for the paramedics.

*oOoOoOoOo*  
A confidence man is, by definition, a man protecting his assets but willing to bargain, steal, and manipulate to acquire more. Peter considers this fact as he waits for the doctor. Neal is sitting on the gurney his feet dangling over the side. His head is bowed as a nurse cleans the wounds on his temple and face. He’ll have a lovely shiner for Christmas.

Neal has refused to answer any questions regarding his stunt. Peter wants to throttle him, but he thinks doing it in the hospital might be bad form. As he considers his options, a doctor walks into the room and glances once at Neal and then back at Peter. He talks briefly to Neal as the nurse continues her work. Eventually he makes his way over to Peter.

Peter shows him his badge and points to the anklet. The doctor nods and they move off to the side to discuss Neal’s condition.

The doctor is a large man with bifocals and a tired expression yet he has kind eyes. “He’s fine. A little shocky and the head wound is concerning. The injury to the face didn’t damage the nose or cheekbone, but it would be a good idea to have a vision check in a few days when the swelling goes down. I would keep him for observation, just in case, but it is Christmas Eve.” The doctor stops and looks at his watch. “Well, Christmas and we try to clear the beds to keep the staff at minimum. Does he have anyone to watch over him for a day or so?”

Peter glances back at Neal; he’s laying down on the gurney and his face is shielded by a blanket. The nurse hovers over him and talks quietly. The doctor’s question rolls around him Peter’s head. Neal takes care of himself in the end; no one actually takes care of him. He squints once as he mulls the evidence over then looks back at the doctor and says, “He’ll come home with me.”

“That will do, the nurse has instructions to take care of the eye and his mild concussion.” The doctor offers a hand and Peter shakes it. “Happy Holidays.” He walks over to Neal and speaks to him again. Neal nods but doesn’t actually say much. The doctor puts a hand on his shoulder and pats him once before he leaves.

Peter joins Neal again after the nurse hands over the instructions for Neal’s post-hospital visit. He smiles and folds the paper up to slide into his pocket. “Ready to go?”

Neal doesn’t meet his gaze but shifts off the gurney. He’s fully dress now but he still looks pale, weak, even morose. Peter ushers him out of the room, and down the hallway. As they walk, Neal puts on his long black wool coat and tugs on the gloves. His hat is tucked under his arm. He looks like Neal Caffrey but he doesn’t feel like Neal Caffrey.

When they climb into the car, Peter glances over at Neal and says, “Mozzie went back to the house to check on Elizabeth. She was worried about you.”

Neal nods but still remains silent.

The hospital parking lot is deserted; long rows of empty parking spots surround them. He doesn’t start the car and the chill seeps into the vehicle.

“This was wrong, Neal, wrong,” Peter finally says. Neal protects himself at all times; it is part of what a confidence man does. There were only a few times – two specifically that Peter can think of – when he didn’t. The breadcrumb trail Peter left for Neal to find Kate before he was captured and sent to prison. Peter knows Neal understood he was going to prison if he showed up. The second time was tonight, or last night, he corrects. Neal made a deal with the devil to offer himself up in place of Elizabeth.

Neal’s voice sounds very far away when he speaks, “I broke Kate’s trust, you know. I broke it and it sent me on a tailspin. I tried to con her; I think I told you that. It’s why we weren’t together, why I lost her in the first place. It changed everything in my life.” He clears his throat and looks Peter in the eye. The words he says are deeper, shaded and dark. “I broke your trust, Peter. I broke it and I knew I had to repay it the moment I saw your face when Elizabeth was first taken.”

Peter swallows hard; those moments still eat into his gut. “You mean right before I punched you?”

Neal smiles, a bit, but it is hard and looks like it hurts the blotched red and purple side of his face. “Yes, something like that. I tried other ways, Peter, but in the end this was the one that would work. It was the only one Keller would accept.”

“To meet him at a designated time and offer yourself up like some kind of lamb to the slaughter?”

“I don’t think today is the day for the details.”

“But in essence it was a life for a life?” Peter asks.

“Something like that,” Neal answers.

Peter sees there is more to the deal, something Neal isn’t willing or can’t share. He feels it in the pit of his stomach. Keller wasn’t just getting a dead Neal; he was getting something out of it other than a body. “You have a price on your head,” Peter states. A FBI snitch would be a valuable catch. “He was going to score big with your death.”

“Not big enough to pay for the treasure, but enough,” Neal confirms. He still isn’t looking at Peter.

Peter starts the car and it rumbles as he rolls out of the parking lot. It will take only a little while to get back to his home, to Elizabeth. The streets are empty. He considers Neal’s offering, considers the dangers Neal is still in, and thinks about the fact he took a man’s life just hours ago. When they finally park and get out of the car, Peter helps Neal to the steps of the house. His eye waters from the brisk cold and his face looks painful.

As Peter slides the key into the lock, he turns back to Neal and drops his hands. Pulling off his own gloves, he offers a hand to Neal. Neal pauses before he takes it, then grips it and, with a firm shake, they part. “Thank you, Neal. Thank you.”

Neal smiles and it spreads over his worn face and leaves a gleam in his eyes. “Merry Christmas, Agent Burke.”

Peter claps Neal on the back and opens the door. The year is ending soon, but he believes many bright things are yet to come.

THE END


End file.
